


Baby Bird

by WaitingForMy



Series: Theories of Confics [3]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate title: Theories of Childbirth, Babies, Childbirth, Kettle cooked salt and vinegar potato chips, Multi, Still super Sprace-centric, The siblings that write Newsies trash together stay together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: Concerning Maggie Cortes...
Relationships: Finch (Newsies)/Original Female Character(s), Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Theories of Confics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149308
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Baby Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, as promised: The Magdalyn Hollis Cortes one-shot. If you haven't read Theories of Conflict, this will make minimal sense.

July eighteenth had been marked in Finch’s calendar for months. He had set reminders and countdowns. He had clothes set out and a bag packed and ready, by his bedroom door. Realistically, he knew Magdalyn might not come  _ on _ her exact due date, but he had to have something to hold onto, or he was going to lose his mind, so July eighteenth it was. It was no surprise, then, that he couldn’t fall asleep the night before. He had gone to bed early, hoping to avoid some of the waiting by sleeping through it, but of course that didn’t happen. He tossed and turned, mind racing, stomach bubbling with an uncomfortable mixture of nervousness and excitement. He wanted to meet his child, this whole other person he had helped create, who was going to grow up and live in the world. He also knew that childbirth was a risky business, and a lot could go wrong. Still, Kaylie was healthy, and Maggie was healthy, so the odds were in their favor. Odds did little to call him down for sleep, however.

A lot more could go wrong than just medical problems. Finch could suck at being a dad. He could drop her. He could end up with a shit custody agreement. She could hate him. The possibilities were endless and exciting.

At least the pandemic restrictions had loosened to allow two people in the room during labor. Kaylie’s dad was none too thrilled that she chose her mom and Finch instead of him, but then Finch had the pleasure of watching her tell him that even if there were no restrictions, she didn’t want her father looking at her ‘gaping vagina’, which had shut him up extremely effectively, and the look of Catholic horror on his face was a memory Finch was going to treasure for a long time.

Finally, thank god, exhaustion began to get the upper hand, and Finch’s thoughts began to slow. Just as he began to slip under, the phone rang.

He groaned loudly and smacked at it, as if that would make it shut up, but of course it didn’t. He pulled it over to his ear and swiped to answer without checking the caller ID. “H’llo?”

“Patrick?” Mrs. Hollis, Kaylie’s mom. “It’s time to go to the hospital; the baby’s coming.”

Finch pulled the phone away from his face, blinking at the light. Seven minutes past midnight. “Oh, god, she’s punctual,” he groaned.

“Patrick?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m on my way.”

* * *

Race was never the most reliable sleeper; either too much manic energy kept him awake, too much depressive spiraling kept him awake, or all the way on the other end with depression hibernation. A lifetime of ricocheting between these options left the middle ground—falling asleep super easy, but being woken up by every last little thing—a welcome, though rarely visited state.

He’d pulled out of his most recent depressive slump, and was clinging desperately to the tiny island of a stable state of mind and sleep, so when a loud buzz from his phone woke him in the middle of the night, he groaned loudly and grabbed it off the nightstand. He squinted at the light.

A text from Fonch to the Dance Boiz. “ _ Just got to the hospital with K. Holy shit we’re having a baby _ .”

“Holyshitwe’rehavingababy,” Race slurred sleepily, dropping his face back down into the pillow. Then he bolted upright, as proper realization struck. “Holy shit, we’re having a baby!!!”

He floundered his way off his bed, nearly tripping on the sheets tangled around his legs, and darted for the stairs. He skidded to a stop in the hallway, fumbling at the door to Spot’s room, and tumbled inside.

Spot grunted. “Tony? Hey.”

“We’re having a baby!” Race all but shouted, flinging himself at the bed. “Er,  _ they’re _ having a baby!”

“Wh—... Oh, Jesus, I thought you had a nightmare.” Spot rubbed his eyes. “Birdboy’s baby?”

“Babybabybabybaby!” Race chanted, bouncing up and down on the mattress.

It was really sweet that Spot had guessed he had a nightmare, but he was way too excited about the news for that sweetness to register properly.

“Oh fuck,  _ Birdboy! _ ” He hadn’t texted Finch back. Luckily, he also hadn’t dropped his phone on the way downstairs, so he whipped it around and typed a reply into the group chat, “ _ WOOOOO GO GET THAT BABY!!! _ ”

He heard his parents’ door open, and Mr. Higgins appeared a couple moments later. “What’s all the yelling about?”

“Baby Bird!” Race answered gleefully.

Mr. Higgins shifted his gaze to Spot. “Care to translate?”

“Finch’s baby,” Spot explained.

“They’re at the hospital now!” Race relayed, absolutely beaming.

“That’s really exciting, Bud,” Mr. Higgins conceded. “Can we be excited at a lower volume?”

“Okay. Sorry, Dad,” he whispered loudly, still bouncing a bit.

Mr. Higgins chuckled, shaking his head fondly, and disappeared back down the hall.

Spot reached up and rubbed Race’s back. “I guess I can kiss any hope of sleeping goodbye?”

“What if they have the baby  _ now? _ ” Race demanded indignantly, turning his attention back to his delightfully sleepy boyfriend. “We can’t be  _ asleep for that! _ ”

“Right. I’m sure we’ll be loads of help to the new parents.”

Race shoved his shoulder, flopping over onto his side and snuggling up to Spot. “Shut up, I wanna be supportive.”

Spot hummed and wrapped Race up in his arms, obviously on his way back to sleep already.

“If you think being a sleepy motherfucker is gonna get you out of diaper duty, you’re wrong.” Race pouted, wiggling closer against him.

“Not my baby,” Spot murmured, “not my diapers.”

“You’re a terrible father.”

“I learned from the best.”

Race snickered. “You should ask my dad to teach you how to change a diaper.”

Spot opened his eyes and looked down at Race, making a face. “Your dad adopted a twelve year old.”

“What’s your point?”

His phone buzzed again, saving Spot the trouble of answering. Race flailed a little as he grabbed for his phone. Finch had sent a picture of Kaylie, lounging in her hospital gown, waving. “ _ K says hi, Race _ .”

Race typed back immediately, “ _ Lookin good babymama _ ” with three winky-kissy-faces

In hindsight, as a dancer, Kaylie got pregnant at a great time. She couldn’t have been at the studio anyway, because of the pandemic, so she might as well cook up a small human. Either that, or wait until a small but devastating injury ruined her career and have kids then...but this was better.

Spot made an indignant, sleepy noise and pressed himself up against Race’s back, wrapping his whole body around him like a baby ape. Race beamed. There were lots of pluses to having Spot out of his cast; proper cuddling was definitely one of them, and Spot had been  _ cuddly _ . He had always been very physically affectionate—of course, that affection had been punches for the first while, but still, that’s physical, right?—but now the intensity had increased even further, and Race definitely wasn’t complaining. He wasn’t too happy with the surrounding circumstances, but at least there was some good as a result.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” Spot suggested. “You’ll wake up if you get another text.”

Race nodded. He shot Finch one more text, “ _ Keep me updated! _ ” before setting his phone on the pillow next to him, and settling down into Spot’s arms.

* * *

‘It’s too late for the epidural’ is an all too common trope in the media. Aware of this, Kaylie had started asking about it almost as soon as she got in the hospital bed. She had been eager to get it done, but now that the anesthesiologist was actually in the room with the long ass needle, Kaylie seemed less enthusiastic.

“Okay, sit up for me?” the woman said as she got everything prepared.

Kaylie swallowed, looking apprehensively at the needle. “How much does it hurt?”

“Not much,” the woman assured her. “You’ll feel some pressure, and you might feel almost like a little shock, like if you hit your elbow.”

Mrs. Hollis rubbed her daughter’s shoulder. “You’re gonna want it, Kaylie.”

Kaylie cringed and shot a nervous look at Finch. “I don’t like needles...”

Finch knew. Actually, most everyone there knew, as she had almost cried while the nurse was placing her IV.

“Yeah, but think of it this way;” Finch offered. “It’s only a few seconds, then it’ll help until she gets here,” he looked to the anesthesiologist to confirm, “right?”

“Right.” She turned to Kaylie. “Completely up to you, Mama.”

“Mmm...” Kaylie shifted in uncomfortable indecision, and then her hum quickly turned to a gasping grunt of pain as another contraction came. She was already holding her mom’s hand tight, and her other hand shot out to grip Finch’s in a vice like grip. “Doitdoitdoitdoitdoit,” she groaned through gritted teeth.

“Okay. Sit up for me and turn towards Dad.”

‘Dad’, in this case, was Finch, and the doctors and nurses had been calling him that since they got there, but it still made his chest explode with nervous excitement.

Kaylie adjusted her grip on Finch’s arm, using him to pull herself up into a seated position, and then turned, hanging her legs off the side of the bed. The anesthesiologist set about prepping the area, and Finch took Kaylie’s hands.

“You doin’ okay?” he asked quietly.

“Do I look like I’m doin’ okay?” she scoffed, though it was almost a whimper.

He winced, reaching up to wipe away the hair stuck to her forehead. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Okay, Kaylie,” the anesthesiologist placed a hand on her upper back, “lean forward, hug your baby. You’re gonna feel some pressure.”

Kaylie whimpered, and closed her eyes tight, gripping Finch’s hands harder.

“You’re doing awesome, Kay,” he whispered to her, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles.

She whimpered again, shaking a little bit and very clearly trying hard not to cry.

Finch leaned his forehead against hers. “It’s alright. You can cry if you need to. You’re doing great.”

Kaylie let out a quiet, stifled sort of gasp, and a couple of tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Awesome, Kaylie,” the anesthesiologist praised, moving to tape the needle in place.

Kaylie just sobbed quietly. Finch felt fucking terrible, of course. He was the one who knocked her up, so in a way, her pain was his fault—both of their fault, but only Kaylie was the only one suffering the physical consequences of them being stupid, horny teenagers.

* * *

Since moving in with Race’s family, Spot had grown accustomed to being woken up by all kinds of strange things. A pitch black room and a mysterious crunching sound was a new one.

“Race?” He batted at the side of the bed where Race had been, the last time he was awake. He made contact, but was surprised when his hand landed in Race’s lap, instead of on his side, as he’d expected. Race seemed to be sitting up against the headboard, legs criss-crossed.

“Wassup, baby?” Race asked, sounding like his mouth was full.

“Are you eating chips in my bed?”

“Mo,” he replied around more crunching and the sound of a bag being crinkled.

Spot snatched the bag from him—kettle cooked salt and vinegar. “You brought these abominations here, into my safe space—”

“They’re good!” Race protested.

“You’re just eating pain.”

“I like the way it feels when my tongue gets all sandpaper-y.”

“You’re a freak.”

“No really, feel!” Race insisted, moving to flop half on top of the still barely awake Spot, and ran his tongue up the side of Spot’s face.

Spot groaned, but gave him the bag back. He didn’t have the energy to fight this battle. “No chick yet?”

“Mm!” Race hummed excitedly, wiggling around to lay on him more comfortably. “Not yet, but Finch texted to say shit’s about to get started.”

“Good.” Spot rubbed Race’s back, up under his shirt. “Any idea how long she’s gonna take to hatch?”

Race shrugged. “Dunno, I’ve never given birth. I hope it’s quick though, for everyone’s sake.”

Personally, Spot was glad childbirth was something neither he nor Race would ever have to deal with. Doing what amounted to shitting a watermelon didn’t sound like a good time. He kissed Race’s head. “Me, too.”

Race hummed happily, wiggling a bit more. “I think Finch is gonna be a good daddy.”

“Yeah?” Spot took the bag of chips again and set it over on his nightstand, so they wouldn’t knock it over and get chips everywhere.

“Nooo, my chips,” Race wailed softly, but continued talking anyway. “He’s already so invested and so proud, and she hasn’t even popped yet. It’s awesome.”

Spot smiled, a little sadly. He knew Race was projecting onto this baby. Fuck, he had been, all along; they were both the kids of teen parents, and Race wanted the baby to have a better go of it. “She’s got a lot of people to love her,” Spot assured him.

Race nodded. “Anyone who doesn’t is gonna have to come tell me exactly why, and then I’ll tell ‘em exactly where to shove it.”

“God help any boyfriends or girlfriends she gets in the future,” Spot chuckled.

“I’ll beat ‘em up,” Race agreed, nodding. “I’m gonna be the scary uncle.” He gasped an awful, almost painful sounding gasp. “ _ Uncle Tony! _ I’m the crazy mafia uncle!!!”

Spot laughed outright at that. “They’re gonna expect some big, Italian guy in a suit and get a blond twink in ballet slippers.”

“Have you ever been hit by a ballet slipper!?” Race demanded. “Those bitches  _ hurt _ . And besides,” he grumbled, wiggling a bit more and hooking a leg up over Spot’s hips, “I have a suit.”

“Mm, betcha look real cute in it too,” Spot purred, kissing his head again.

“I’m cuter out of it.” Race tilted his face up towards Spot’s, wiggling his eyebrows and meeting him for a real kiss.

Spot placed his hand on the side of Race’s neck, pulling him in, and Race hummed happily against his lips, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Spot rolled over on top of him, pressing him down into the mattress.

Race squeaked in surprise, but it quickly turned into an eager, “ _ ooh _ ,” and he slid his hands up over Spot’s chest to his shoulders. Spot grabbed them and pinned them instead, kissing Race hard and slow. Race moaned against his lips, arching to press his hips forward against him. Spot exhaled sharply, tightening his grip on Race’s wrists. Race whined, rolling his hips up again. Then, there was a buzz from under the pillow, and he screamed, right into Spot’s mouth.

Spot let go of him as Race flailed, scrambling to grab his phone. His face was lit up with excited glee, and then the light of the phone screen, and his expression dropped into a disappointed pout.

“Aww, what the fuck, it’s Jack. Why is he awake so early?”

“You tell me,” Spot said flatly, rolling off Race. He continued in a grumble, “Kid’s already cockblocking us, and she’s not even ours.”

Race snickered. “Sorry baby.”

“What’s Jack want?”

Race waved vaguely. “Some shit about his and Dave’s upcoming six-month-iversary.”

“Well, tell him to fuck off,” Spot huffed, reaching for Race again.

Race giggled, setting his phone back down and rolling towards Spot. “Yes sir.”

* * *

Finch was trying to focus on Kaylie. Really, he was, but that was easier said than done when all he could think about was his  _ daughter _ , who was about to be in the world, and what if something was wrong, and what if he messed something up, and how bad would it be if he threw up on Kaylie, right now?

Kaylie looked pretty nauseous herself. Thanks to the epidural, she wasn’t in agony, but considering the tears, the breathing, and the white knuckled grip on Finch’s arm, it must’ve still been pretty bad.

“You’re almost done,” the doctor told her. “Just a couple more pushes, and she’ll be here, alright?”

Oh, god, just a couple more pushes, and she’d be there.

“I can’t do it!” Kaylie sobbed. “I can’t!” Finch couldn’t tell if it was pain in her voice, or fear, or more likely both.

“Yes, you can, sweetie,” Mrs. Hollis said, wiping sweat-soaked hair off Kaylie’s forehead.

“I can’t!” she wailed again, then cried out at another contraction.

Finch wrapped his arm around her back. “You got this, Kaylie,” he said. “I’m so proud of you.”

“ _ Aaaaagh _ , you asshole! I can’t believe you did this to me!” Kaylie yelled, crying furiously.

Finch cringed. “Sorry—”

“One more, Kaylie. You can do it,” the doctor said.

Kaylie screamed against the strain, and then suddenly, Finch heard a baby start to cry.

He almost passed out. “Oh my god.”

“Congratulations, she’s here!” the doctor said, and Kaylie sobbed in relief.

“Oooh my god,” Finch repeated dumbly.

“Ohhh,” Kaylie cooed weakly, still softly crying—though now in happy relief—as the baby was placed gently on her chest.

“She looks good, Mama,” the doctor assured her, stepping back as a nurse came up to clean the newborn off.

Finch felt like the air had just been punched out of his lungs. She didn’t look  _ good _ ; she looked  _ perfect _ , like a very loud, tiny doll. God, she certainly had a set of lungs on her; screaming tiny baby screams as the nurse gently toweled her off and settled a blanket over her.

“Hello, my beautiful baby,” Kaylie crooned, gently wrapping her arms around the tiny bundle on her chest.

Finch’s vision blurred, and he worried for a second he was actually passing out, but then he realized he was just crying a little. “Hi, Magdalyn.” He reached out and carefully placed his hand on the back of her head. “Hello, sweetheart.”

* * *

Race had stuck his head in a beehive. It was one of those big, Winnie-The-Pooh-style, roundish, lumpy ones, and all of the bees were coming up to his face to introduce themselves. There were so many, and they were so small, he couldn’t really keep track. None of them were stinging him, but the buzzing was practically rattling his head.

It was too early for so many bees.

Another buzz, and he was awake, very confused for a moment as to where all the honey had gone, and why the hive was all dark and squishy now. Then, he realized that his head was between the pillow and the mattress, and his phone was buzzing just behind his head.

He groaned groggily and sat up, letting the pillow slide off his head as he pawed around for his phone, smacking Spot in the face in the process. He made contact with his phone, picking it up and dropping it before he managed to actually get a look at the screen.

It was almost five-forty, and Finch had texted again.

“ _ She’s here _ ”

“ _ Five pounds twelve ounces, eighteen inches _ ”

“ _ She’s fucking precious _ ”

Race grunted, flapping at Spot again. “Th’za baby!”

“What?” Spot asked blearily, dodging Race’s hands.

“We have a hatchling!”

“Oh, shit.”

Race typed a response. “ _ Congrats man! That’s amazing! _ ” and immediately followed up with, “ _ Send us a pic!! _ ”

It took a few minutes, but then, there it was—a picture of the tiniest little person he ever did see, wrapped up in a blanket and a little hat with just her squishy little face showing.

“Holy shiiiiit,” Race cooed. He typed back, “ _ she’s beautiful omg! _ ” before turning the phone to show Spot.

Spot grunted, holding up a hand to block the light from his eyes. “That baby bird?”

“No. Dave’s been secretly pregnant this whole time.”

“Hey, I dunno what’s in Dave’s pants; he could be, for all I know or care.”

“Jack Kelly is in Dave’s pants,” Race replied, grinning, “and very proud of the fact.”

Spot sighed tiredly, closing his eyes as he wiggled into a comfortable position. “Good for him.”

Race chuckled, looking at the picture on his phone again. “Good for  _ Finch _ .” He shook his head fondly. “I can’t believe he’s a whole dad now.”

“Whole dad,” Spot repeated solemnly.

Race rolled his eyes and smacked Spot’s chest. “And you’re a whole dick.”

Spot whined, rolling over away from Race. He was tired, which was perfectly reasonable, since it was ass o’clock in the morning after a night of minimal sleep. Race was pretty tired too, but he was also pretty excited about the baby. Of course, there wasn’t really anything for him to do about it, so he just hummed contentedly and put his phone down again, rolling over after Spot to cozy up to his back. Spot hummed as well, and laced their fingers together.

Race let out a quiet sigh and pressed a kiss into his hair. “Love you.”

“Love you,” he said back.

Race sighed contentedly again. Finch had a new baby, Race had Spot, life was good.

* * *

A little over twenty-four hours after Maggie Cortes came into the world, Finch and Kaylie got to bring her home to the Hollis’ house. Kaylie’s older sister’s old bedroom had been converted into a very Catholic nursery, complete with a small crucifix over the door frame, a stylized print of the Hail Mary on the wall, wooden angel figurines peering down from a shelf above the dresser, and a rosary hanging on the corner of the crib. Maggie’s personalized Bible, white with her full name etched in gold cursive near the bottom, sat on top of her dresser—not to be confused with the Catholic Baby’s First Bible, which sat beside the lamp on a little table, next to a rocking chair. Finch thought it was all pretty overboard, but Kaylie was happy with it, so he wasn’t about to complain.

He would admit it; he was jealous that Kaylie got to have her parents during this time. It’s not that he wanted to invite his over—actually, he would have preferred a sterile bubble with just Maggie, Kaylie, and himself—and he completely agreed that it made more sense to move into Kaylie’s house instead of his family’s. Still, it was hard. He was overwhelmed. Kaylie got her whole family support system there with her, and Finch didn’t really have any of his. Kaylie’s parents still weren’t his biggest fans, after all.

He had Maggie, though, looking up at him with clear, hazel eyes as he sat with her in the rocking chair. Kaylie had gone to take a shower, and Finch wanted some time alone with the baby—he was Dad, after all—so he had taken her into her room and closed the door.

Honestly, he was still reeling. He had a  _ baby _ —an actual baby. This was forever, now. For the rest of his life, no matter what happened, he would always be this little girl’s dad, and he was determined to do a good job of it. He had never loved anything the way he loved this tiny person, and he knew he would do anything to keep her safe and happy. It was absolutely insane, how in one moment his entire world was different. Everything was about her, now. His little baby Maggie.

* * *

“I don’t think Jello would make  _ good _ lube,” Race was saying as he received the saucepan Spot had just finished washing, “I’m just saying I wouldn’t say  _ no _ .”

“We weren’t talking about Jello  _ or _ lube,” Spot pointed out.

“Maybe not, but am I wrong?” Race replied, drying the pan off and heading for the cupboard to put it away.

Spot shook his head and set about washing plates. “Jello would make terrible lube.”

“What if you mixed gelatin powder with actual lube?” Race mused, returning to his side.

“You would make lube Jello, and it would still be terrible lube.”

“I think we should—”

“If you want to put Jello up your ass,” Spot said, “be my guest, but I will not be a part of it.” He handed Race a clean plate.

Race pouted. “But babyyy, it’s no fun if  _ I _ do it!”

Spot chuckled. He had learned that the best way to get Race’s bullshit under control was to humor it to a certain extent, a plan which only occasionally backfired. Luckily, before they could dig any deeper into this fantasy, Race’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, setting the plate in his other hand down on the counter as he did so. A second later, he screamed, punching Spot in the ribs as he flailed.

“Oof!” Spot choked. “Racer!”

“Finch wants to show me the baby!!!” he screamed again.

“Okay, okay,” Spot waved him away. “Go see the baby. Jesus.”

“What? No you gotta come see too!” Race insisted.

“Birdboy barely knows me!”

“ _ I _ know you!” he argued, grabbing Spot’s arm and trying to drag him away from the sink.

Spot was easily strong enough to hold his ground, and he did for a moment, but he quickly gave in. Looking at a baby wouldn’t kill him, and Race was really fucking cute when he was excited.

Race headed for the living room with Spot in tow, and vaulted lightly over the back of the couch to grab his laptop off the coffee table. Spot made his way around the couch and sat down next to him like a normal person, and Race immediately pitched over sideways to lean against him as he pulled up Zoom. Spot rolled his eyes, but wrapped his arms around Race’s shoulders.

A second or two later, the call connected, and Race squealed when Finch showed up on the screen, holding a little pink bundle that was definitely a baby.

“Hey, Finch,” Race greeted enthusiastically. “Oh my God, look at her!”

Finch grinned. “Pretty great, right?”

“She’s so  _ small! _ ” Race beamed, and he wiggled his fingers at the camera. “Hi, baby bird!”

“Look, Maggie,” Finch said to his baby. “That’s your uncle Racer.”

Race’s eyes went wide, and he very quietly said, “oh,” before bursting into tears. Spot jumped a little, turning to look at his suddenly sobbing boyfriend, and Finch snickered as Race wiped furiously at his eyes. “Ah, shit— I mean balls— I mean hell— I mean  _ heck! _ I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Finch said. “She’s got the Hail Mary on her wall. She’ll be alright.”

Race laughed a watery laugh. “I can’t believe you have a baby. This is wild.”

“Yeah, me either.” Finch smiled down at said baby, obviously head over heels.

“How’s she doin’ so far?” Race asked, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand.

“Fantastic.” Finch shook his head, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Labor and delivery was textbook, she’s healthy, she took to nursing right away—she’s  _ perfect _ .”

Race beamed. “That’s amazing. How’s babymama?”

“Tired, but good.”

Race nodded. “Sounds right. I’m real glad it went smooth.”

Maggie started to squirm and whine a little, and Finch bounced her, fumbling his phone a little bit. “I should go,” he said, once he got it under control, “give this little one my full attention. I just couldn’t wait to show her off.”

Race nodded. “Sure sure. I can’t wait to meet her for real!”

“I’ll keep you updated. See you later, man.”

“Bye-a Finch.” He wiggled his fingers at the camera again. “Bye, Magpie!”

Finch chuckled, “I like it,” and ended the call.

Grinning, Race closed the laptop, turning towards Spot. “Shit, did you see how  _ tiny _ she was!? I mean, I’m not usually a huge fan of kids, but it hits different when they belong to a friend, y’know?”

“She’s cute,” Spot admitted. Race was cuter, though, all invested and excited, and he didn’t even want kids; he was just happy for his friend. It was adorable, and Spot was a sucker.

Race shifted, kicking a leg over to straddle Spot’s lap as he turned towards him, and dropped his arms over his shoulders. “Man, it’s nuts that some people do that on purpose.”

“What—have kids?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Absolutely bonkers.”

Spot quirked an eyebrow. “Babe, your parents got you in literally the most intentional way.”

“I know!” Race snickered. “Jeez, imagine wanting a kid so bad and trying so hard for so long and jumping through all the dumb adoption hoops, only to end up saddled with my crazy ass.”

“They  _ chose _ your crazy ass,” Spot pointed out. “So did I.”

“You all have terrible taste,” Race replied with a grin.

Spot kissed him quickly, then turned a bit to dump him off his lap and onto the couch as he stood up. “Come on, we have to finish the dishes.”

Race squeaked as he was dropped, then clambered to his feet after Spot. “And then make Jello lube.”

“You’re going to get an infection in your ass!”

“No, I’ll just be extra juicy!”

“You’ll be sticky.”

Race shot him a big overdone wink.

Spot rolled his eyes and took Race’s hand to pull him back towards the kitchen. “Come on; I want your parents to keep letting me live here.”

Race waved his free hand dismissively. “If they kick you out, I’ll just go with you.”

“What makes you think it has anything to do with you?” Spot asked. “Maybe I’m in it for your parents’ cooking.”

Race scoffed indignantly. “Okay, sure. Maybe I’ll start locking my bedroom door at night so you can’t sneak in.”

“Right, because  _ I’m _ the one sneaking in.” Spot dropped Race’s hand as they neared the sink, and he set about washing more plates.

“What makes you think it has anything to do with you?” Race shot back, turning to lean back against the counter, next to the sink. “Maybe your bed is comfier than mine.”

Spot snickered, grinning, because Race was witty, and he was whipped.

There was a moment of quiet, in which Race took a clean plate from him to dry off, walking over to the cabinet to put it away. “What if we got our own place?”

“What—you mean, like, now?” Spot stammered a bit.

“I dunno, maybe.”

Spot rested his hands on the edge of the sink, thinking. “I’d like to,” he said. “It’s probably the worst time ever to try to move, but...I’d like to.”

Race—having come back to stand next to him again—beamed. “Really?”

“Well yeah.” Spot angled his body towards him. “We already live together, it would just...be ours.”

Race looked absolutely over the moon. “So it’s  _ not _ about my parents’ cooking!

“Well,” Spot smiled indulgently, “your parents’ cooking doesn’t make me cum.”


End file.
